


Day 3- Secret

by Xenamorph



Series: Femslash Wizard101 [3]
Category: Wizard101
Genre: Ancient Egypt, Family, Family Secrets, Gen, Krokotopia, Long Lost/Secret Relatives, Secret Identity, Secrets, Spiders
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-14
Updated: 2020-02-14
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:33:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22705519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xenamorph/pseuds/Xenamorph
Summary: Rowan finds out a secret that isn't hers to know.
Series: Femslash Wizard101 [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1627348
Kudos: 1





	Day 3- Secret

Rowan wasn’t being watched, which is altogether a bad thing. Sand had snuck its way into her city-bought shoes and she checked her coin purse. Not enough, not for a properly enchanted set that would protect her better against the sands and the reanimated dead alike. Flashing a slight grin, Rowan jostled Jasmine next to her, “I’m going to try to get some shows that one let the sand in, want anything from the market?”

“Ooh, I think Prince Luke-” Jasmine spoke in a baby voice as she scratched the underside of her desert beast’s chin, “-would enjoy a few boxes of Honey Tombs if you can find em.”

Rowan sucked breath in through her teeth and chuckled, “Oooh, Jazzy, I don’t think I can do that. I’m so tight on gold…” She drawled out the final word as she leaned on the pyromancer’s shoulders, “...unless-”

“Yeah yeah, unless I spot you a few hundred.” Jasmine scoffed and shook her head, “My mommas’ told me to never give money to Marleybonians. They’ll double it and claim they did it all alone.”

Scoffing, she shoved off of her, “Your mommas suck dude, discriminating against Marleybonians like that! Besides, I’m buying the stuff _for you_ , you should give me the money for the snacks!”

“I spotted you when we went to that celebration dinner after defeating the Harvest Lord, you can afford like a hundred gold of snacks that you’ll probably end up filching from me anyway.” Jasmine flicked Rowan’s cheek as she pulled out her wand. “I gotta get working on those venom sacs, they ain’t gonna cut themselves out and Cal^2 both hate spiders.” Using the butt of her wand, she prodded Rowan’s chest, “So either get out your athame or get spending.”

Rowan stuck her tongue out, but slid her athame out of its hostler and palmed it. “If I get stuck, I’ll bring some back.”

“Figured I could count on that.” Jasmine cracked a crooked smile, the one that always showed off her chipped canine. “And hey! Maybe they’re carrying some gold!” Her laugh was a cackle and she turned on her heels, the small flaps at the brim bouncing with her step, “And keep the sacs intact! Those buggers can eat right through the metal!” The words were barely tossed over her shoulder, she was too focused on getting close to a pair of spiders.

Rowan dawdled a bit, just enough to make sure that the circle Jasmine summoned held and she wasn’t swarmed. Once Jaz had a blade spinning over her head, Rowan stuck a hand to wave her leaving before beginning to jog off towards the main encampment.

The tomb was fantastically excavated, and Rowan could only slow her pace down to fully enjoy the sight of it. Tall columns with pristinely painted hieroglyphics, straight stonework and statues of old tyrants. And, upon closer inspection, Rowan could see the all-too-familiar set of hieroglyphics in a cartouche. Calamity’s old name, the one she left behind in order to fit in better in Wiz City. Ankhesenamun.

Her breath hitched in her throat as she looked at the scene depicted, her grip tightening down on the cloth wrapped hilt of her dagger. She knew that Calamity had come from Krokotopia, but this was _ancient_. Silt and sand had filled in the carvings of the glyphs, and they were slightly rounded at the edges. 

“By the Spiral…” Rowan breathed the words out, scrambling in her bag to draw out a scrap of parchment just big enough to cover the entire name, and a stick of charcoal (she hated charcoal, it made her nerves buzz and her fingers feel permanently dirty) to rub and copy it down. “One and only time I’ll thank Cyrus that’s for sure,” The words didn’t stop her from dragging the triangle tip of her wand down the parchment, ensuring so that the charcoal wouldn’t smear.

Her bloodbat, Penny, lolled it’s tongue out and butted it’s head against her leg. Almost forcing her away from the large Krokotillian statue, with it’s large claws and sharp fangs and amber cut eyes that seemed almost intelligent for hunks of gem. Tamping down on a shiver, Rowan raised her shoulders until the beads of her usekh touched her earlobes. She still had to get new shoes, revelations about her adventuring partner’s past aside.

Rowan took a steadying breath, like her governess taught her to whenever she got worried. There were things to be done first, shoes to try on and cereal to buy and venom sacs to cut out of spiders. The rubbing of the glyphs can wait, the irritation that is forming into calluses and blisters cannot. A scoff rose in her throat as she tossed her red hair over her shoulder, shaking her head to get rid of the thoughts plaguing her and she was off towards the market. 

The market of Kroktopia was on the second island to the left, and it was one of the larger of the scattered islands. Stone and brickwork constructed buildings lined the streets, allowing awnings to be strung between their roofs, giving shade to the stalls and carts of all sorts of merchantry.

The scent of spices makes Rowan’s nose crinkle, but she marched towards one of the proper buildings. Slipping inside, she inclined her head towards the orange Mander behind the stall, “Good day, Sayid. I’ve come to get fitted for a pair of enchanted shoes.”

Sayid gave a thin smile (or as well as he could with his salamander mouth), and motioned for Rowan to sit on one of the stools, “Right to the thick of it as always, Miss Mythhunter.”

Rowan’s lips twitched at the mention of her chosen last name, it was truly a good name. A name that will be engraved into things (and the thought of engraved named, the parchment scrap in her bag burned). “As always, my team and I have things to do and I can’t be bothered to keep dumping sand and silt out of my shoes after every battle. So I decided to come to one of the best.”

Sayid chuckled, shaking his head slightly as he finished measuring her feet and moved to his stock, “You’re a conjurer, correct?” At her nod of agreement, he pulled out a pair of curled toed, knee high shoes, “Wear these, you will be more resilient and hardy.”

Rowan gave him a nod, trading her shoes in and handing over the allotment of gold, “I will suggest your services to my team.” She said as a method of goodbye, and then exited the open archway. Already she could feel the difference, even though the shoes had yet to be broken in, the lack of sand digging into the soles of her feet was an improvement. She moved along with sides of the market, keeping clear of other people’s paths as she counted her remaining gold. 

Just enough for a box of Honey Tombs, Jasmine was _so_ going to pay her back. But it helped her out anyway, Jasmine wasn’t really wrong when she predicted that Rowan was going to pilfer the stash. 

Merui-Mera was one of the remaining storm Manders, set up with a wooden frame around the large window of her home. A sort of corral for the various pets that she was showing off. A red and yellow hound, a physical embodiment of one of the spells that Jasmine enjoyed to summon out of combat, and a normal, non sapient salamander dressed up in a miniature version of the Ice Mander’s garb. But that wasn’t what Rowan came for.

“Hello, esteemed wizard.” Merui-Mera’s voice was sweet and musical as she set down one of the heckhound pups that hand jumped up onto the ledge. “What can I do for you?”

Wasting no time, Rowan pulled out enough gold to buy “Box ‘a Honey Tombs please,” and set the coinage down on the ledge.

The Mander smiled, and nodded, sweeping the gold into her own pouch before sliding the box towards her, “Of course, Myth-hunter.”

A polite nod (Rowan’s family impressed upon her the importance of propriety) and she was off. Back to board the boat towards the Krokosphinx, Rowan’s mind was once again drawn to the preserved charcoal rubbing in her bag.

For another day, Rowan has better to do than to needle her traveling acquaintance about her past.


End file.
